Left Ear
by egretudo
Summary: The Doctor gives into a temptation to go and visit a past Rose. But as usual, not everything goes to plan. Reunion fic. Takes place just after the 3rd season, AU after that.
1. Chapter 1: Reaction

It wasn't entirely surprising that the idea came to him in a mall.

The Doctor had been walking through one en route to the Porchei High Command building to witness one of the more famous coronations in galactic history.

One of his previous selves may have routed around the foreboding maze of mass produced consumables, but he'd chosen to plow straight through. Taking in the garish lighting, brightly colored signage, and ready-to-pounce sales personnel, he grinned to himself. This him had an odd liking for shops. And, perhaps not entirely coincidentally, shop girls. Well... one shop girl. He tried not to think about it.

Despite his attempts, he soon found himself affixed to the floor in Cosmetics, staring blankly into space, thinking of little else. An outside observer would have noted that the man just stopped suddenly, all expression completely wiped from his face. He just stood there. The sight was made all the more unnatural given that this body was one that was meant to be in motion. For far longer than was socially acceptable, the Doctor stayed still, resembling a shop mannequin parked in a heavily congested walkway.

The fragrance girls approached him cautiously to ask if he was okay, but he did not hear them. All of his superior auditory senses were, at that moment, entirely engaged. His ears and brain were wholly consumed by a tinny sound piped in through the ceiling mounted speakers.

Saiphan flutes. When used in a tune in most of the universe they were considered the height of cheesy muzak, perfect for numbing the shopping hordes into pliable buyers. But like a ukulele or bagpipe, played by a master in their native location, they could be incredibly charming.

And they'd given him an idea.

His body was rooted to the spot, closed to all external stimuli as he examined this notion. Saiphan flutes. Rose. Could it work? Could he make this work?

After Rose was lost, he'd gone back in her early timeline to see her many times. Even had a minor conversation with her when she was small, and too little to remember him. But each time he came away feeling more lost than when he arrived. This was Rose, yes, but she didn't know _him._ She didn't, couldn't, smile at him in that way that made the universe melt away. It broke his heart that he couldn't reveal himself to her.

He craved to visit her in a time she knew him. But he couldn't risk being seen by her when she was with big ears. And after his regeneration, they'd been nearly inseparable.

Except one time. One time he had nearly forgotten. Until he heard the Saiphan flutes.

He pushed the thought away at once, but it came floating back, dangling cheekily in front of him.

Did he dare? A close examination of the timeline seemed to indicate it would withstand the change. So long as he left by morning, it was a relatively small change, as timelines went. He risked much more on a regular basis simply by taking companions with him, plucking them out of their safe, normal lives and taking them to some remote world they were never intended to see.

So did he dare? What good would it do him? Reopening old wounds seemed like a pretty silly thing to do. He'd had his goodbye, his closure. More so than he'd ever had before with those he'd lost. How, again, would seeing her like this help anything?

The self-imposed rationalizations ultimately mattered little. After all he'd lost, after the year that never was, he had to see her. In a moment without goodbyes. Where he could taste some of their banter, and make her smile one more time.

Satisfied with this conclusion, he cracked a grin and started to open his eyes. As his brain moved back into the present, voices sprang back into his ears. He heard someone say, "If this doesn't wake him up, I don't know what will. Alright, ladies. On three. 1…2…" He had no time to duck before the shop girls upended several large open bottles of sticky fragrance on his person.

And that was how he found himself here, on Saipha 2, a half hour past dusk, coated head to toe in Porcheian perfume. The last part wasn't exactly to plan, but he understood there were only so many resources at the disposal of shop girls trying to save a life.


	2. Chapter 2: Recursion

As the Doctor walks the outskirts of the main festivities, his eyes dart across the party. Luau, he reminds himself. Saipha was a Polynesian colony, and one that kept a tight hold on their traditions. Flaming torches had been planted deep into the sand casting delightful, golden shadows on the participants. Delicious aromas wafted from the firepit. The band, Saiphan flutes aplenty, was just starting to hit its stride.

Rose should have been easy to spot, the only blonde in a sea of dark complexions, but he didn't see her anywhere. Toeing the sand a bit, he realizes that whether the lingering heat of the day, or the betrayal of his mangled nerves, he is feeling a bit warm. He shrugs off his suit jacket, and as an afterthought, his tie. "Oh, what the hell," he thinks, and slips off his trainers and socks as well.

As he makes his way into the crowd clad only in shirt sleeves and trousers, he feels uncannily exposed. Like everyone can see that he is a fraud. He shoves his hands in his pockets as protection.

Unexpectedly, the crowd parts slightly, and he sees her. She is clad in a simple white sundress, hair loose, a flower tucked behind her ear. Two Saiphan women are teaching her some dance steps, and Rose looks to be laughing with her fruitless efforts to move her hips quickly enough.

The moment to study her is brief. He is spotted, and she foots it in his direction, mirthfully plowing through the crowd to encircle him in a vicious hug. He recoils briefly with the sheer inertia of her launched embrace before finding his footing and leaning into her.

"You're back!" she breathes into his neck. "And after all of that bluster about not being back until morning."

Oh Rassilon, she feels like home. Home with very little air, but home all the same. Had she always hugged him this tightly? No matter. He'd asphyxiate before he'd release her.

But she is already letting go, sliding down his body to his feet. Her bare feet brush his. She looks down and back up at him with a squiggled eyebrow. "Where," she asks, "are your shoes?"

"Ah. Funny you should ask. Red Bellied Shoemonster. Attacked me in the woods. Barely made it out alive."

Her tongue catches between her teeth and she brushes her hands up and down his arms lightly. "Was said Shoemonster accompanied by a Suit-Jacket-Monster as well?"

"Why, yes. Yes, it was. They're often seen together, you know. It's an odd, but beautiful relationship. Symbiotic, really."

"So! Are we off then? How did things go? Did you get what you needed?"

Taking a breath, he evenly speaks his carefully prepared lie. "Nah, haven't left yet, actually. Got halfway to the TARDIS when I realized I had a desperate hankering for some pupus."

Grinning to cover, he locks eyes with her for the first time. It is almost his undoing. Her dark eyes melt his resolve. He wants to burst forth and tell her everything. Play it cool, he reminds himself. Cool and... what was his motivation again? Right. Hungry.

Their eyes still fixed on each other, Rose is silent, seemingly studying him. He feels his stomach lurch. Did he manage to put the right jumper on? Is he found out already?

"Earth to Rose? You there?" he jokes gently.

Blinking, she squints one last time and seems to rouse herself out of the fog. Cricking her head to the side, she smiles. "Sorry. There are so many possible jokes about pupus that I got a bit stuck trying to figure out which one to go with."

The adrenaline coursing through him leaves him no choice but to fill the space between them with talk. "Such a lovely word: pupu. Those little bursts of air that get to pop from the mouth. Shame about the homonym, really. Did you know it means 'precious and rare' in Cantonese and 'little bite' in Hawaiian? And then there's the alliteration value you get out of the infamous pupu platter. Pupu platter. Ooooh, I could say that all day long. It's just lovely on the tongue. Try it!" he directs.

"Pupu platter," Rose reluctantly trills, popping her 'p's. She laughs, and it's a brilliant sight to behold. Her head is thrown back, neck exposed, eyelashes pressed shut. He had forgotten how perfectly beautiful she is.

Recovering, she grins and beckons him towards the tables with food. "C'mon. Pupus and platters aside, you're going to love the food. Nearly everything has something to do with bananas."

From table to table she leads him, scooping up sauces and presenting him with little bites. He chews mindlessly, accepting what she gives him, gurgling loudly in what he hopes is an appreciative tone, and even once rubbing his belly to indicate content.

Earnestly, he tries to play his part, but all the while he can't stop looking at her, staring with a ferocity he thought he'd lost with his ninth self. He's forgotten so much about her subtle gestures and nervous twitches; how she moves with natural grace, how she radiates benevolence. Longing builds up behind his eyes with thunderous heat.

Suddenly, he can't help feeling relieved that she keeps his mouth filled, because everything he says seems trite. Between nibbles, he silently curses himself.

Don't squander this, he thinks sternly. You won't get another chance.

"Why can't you take me with you again?" Rose interjects suddenly.

Licking his fingers clean, he remembers an abbreviated version of this conversation from last time. "I told you, Rose, they aren't huge fans of the ladies on this planet. They kill all women. Gendercide is not a pretty thing."

"And, you're going there why again? For a boys' night out?"

"That's right. Grab a pint, watch some footie. Have to skip the strip club though, lest it end in mass murders."

She frowns, and he caves. "I already told you, Rose. I'm going there because it is the only place in all of time and space that produces a compatible TARDIS part now that my world is gone. These are organic components. I can't just jimmy something up with a paperclip and a bit of string."

"And I fancied you such a MacGyver," she deadpans.

He nudges her side a bit and softens his voice. " 'Sides, you always want to stick around for the parties. Weren't you desperate to stay only an hour ago? Look how lovely it is here, Rose."

"What if I promised to stay in the TARDIS?"

"Would you?"

"Would I promise? Or would I stay?"

"Either."

"Yes. Both." she insists.

He's tempted. He's so tempted to yield. To kidnap her: throw her over his shoulder, take her to the TARDIS, and make love to her for eternity in the safety of the vortex while the universe burns around them. A very small part of him tells himself that the universe has had a good go of it, and he's due.

"No," he sputters abruptly. "I'm sorry Rose, but you have to stay here."

"But Doctor," she says, tone even, trying to reason her way through, "What if you don't come back? I know you would never mean to, but accidents happen, y'know? How do I know that you'll be back tomorrow? I could be trapped here for months. Even years."

"Would that really be so bad, Rose? I mean look around you! Warm beaches, no more volcano issues looming - we made short work of that today. You could make a living weaving baskets and juggling fire. And think of the tan you'd get!"

She swats at him, part playful and part irritated. "Gor! Doctor, I mean it! If you're not going to let me come with you, I need to know you'll keep your promise. I need to know that when I wake up tomorrow you'll be here."

She's right, he realizes. Why hadn't he taken her with him? Or at least dropped her off at home before he left. He had been so pompous. Taken so many things with her for granted. There were so many things he would do differently if he had another go. Places he would have taken her. Things he would have told her.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he grits out, "I'll always come for you. No matter what happens. I promise." If she could sense the lie in his voice, he couldn't tell.

It was enough. Folding her arms with a bit of a "Humph", Rose relents, staring into the party. Side by side they stand, their backs to the sea.

"Rose."

"Hmm?"

"Dance?"

She turns to eye him suspiciously, her confusion evident. "What?"

"Dance, Rose? As in dance?" He grabs her hand and starts dragging her across the sand.

"I don't see a conga line forming anywhere, Doctor. There's nobody doing the twist. No can-can line or limbo pole." She suddenly looks horrified. "Oh God, don't tell me you want to hula..."

"And why not? I've got the hips for it!" Stopping suddenly at a spot in the center of the beach, the Doctor is careful to keep his voice light. "No hula. Just a nice dance. You and me. Moving to the music."

He smiles down at her and delights as she tries to make sense of his invitation. Seeing he is serious, she raises her hands up, clearly unsure about where to put them. "How do you want..." she murmurs the question.

"I don't know. Thought you were the expert on dancing."

She rolls her eyes, and opts to thread her right hand through his and place her left on his shoulder. "No wonder we don't do this. It's like the blind leading the blind here," she jokes.

He smiles and flexes the tips of his fingers into the small of her back. "Like an Ood leading an Ood," he echoes quietly, as he snuggles her a bit closer.

Her head snaps up. "What did you say?"

He realizes his error. Luckily, he makes a habit of making obscure references, so he just shakes his head.

They move gently, naturally, back and forth in time to the music. The flutes are just as lovely as he had hoped. He feels her begin to relax against him, her warmth pressing against his chest and side. All of his tension and worry falls away, and the rest of the luau melts away with it. Finally, it's just them: the Doctor and Rose.

She leans her head tentatively against his shoulder, and he pulls her closer, nestling his chin in the top of her hair. As close as he is, he can feel the buzzing of her surface thoughts radiating out to him. And like so many times before, he feels an overwhelming desire to taste her mind. Even just considering the possibility makes him sway with arousal.

After a while, she lifts her head to peer at him. "Hello," she says beatifically.

"Hello," he breathes back.

He can't help himself, he has to touch her face. Brushing her hair to the side, he reaches for the flower behind her ear. "What have you got here?" he says in that voice he keeps reserved for all things small and precious.

"That boy we saved gave it to me earlier."

Not releasing her, he turns it in his fingers to examine it. "Hyacinth Proclydia," he proclaims, "A beautiful specimen."

Still holding the flower up, his eyes pivot to Rose. "Now, you've placed it behind your right ear, which in the fine Saiphan tradition, tells all of the locals that you are available. Single and available, that is. But..."

He stops abruptly, gently snuggling the flower between her windswept hair and her left ear.

"...put it behind your left ear instead, and it's clear that you are..."

"..are?" breathes Rose.

"Left ear means you're taken." His eyes burn into hers, and there is no mistaking his intent.

With this admission, he feels her gulp slightly. In reaction, his hand tightens on her lower back, pulling her as close as he can get. His other hand is still sweeping her hair back from her face. He can't help but notice that their rhythmic sways have stilled, and they are standing unmoving in the sand. Rose's face is upturned and eyes are sparkling in the firelight.

He knows that she wants him to kiss her. And he desperately wants to do it for her. His body is reacting with almost hypnotic force to her slightly parted, moistened lips, and he finds himself drawing closer to her, his thrumming heartbeats reducing the sounding flutes to mere countermelody.

His lips brush against hers. Just the lightest of touches, but electricity is throttling his nervous system. And in the midst of this perfect moment, he sees her, in his mind's eye, losing grip of the handle and hurtling mercilessly towards the void.

God. The void.

It's just a flash, but it's enough. Enough to remind him that he can't go through with it. That he'll break the timeline if she asks the him she's traveling with too many new questions. And, not least of all, enough to remind him that he doesn't deserve this.

He snaps backwards quick as an elastic band, and makes bumbling excuses about having to leave, reminding her he'll be back in the morning. The look on her face is a bit frantic, but nowhere near surprised, and it rocks him to witness her lack of disappointment. He stumbles over the sand, which is suddenly extremely difficult to walk in, hurrying back to the bluff where his TARDIS is parked.

He realizes halfway there that she is following him. She calls out that she has his jacket and shoes and pleads with him to slow down. He has no choice but to ignore her. Anything else and he will break.


	3. Chapter 3: Revelation

**A/N: **This is part 3/5. Or maybe 3/6. The ending's gotten a little trickier than I was expecting. I'm new to this whole writing thing, so constructive crit is _deeply_ appreciated. Thanks for reading!

* * *

When they reach the TARDIS, he turns. She's scrambling behind him, his shoes and jacket in her hands. She speaks to him between panted breaths. "Seems you're missing some things."

He can't answer her, can't look at her, but holds his hand out, palm upstretched. After a pause, she silently places his suit jacket in it. He accepts it and shrugs it onto his shoulders. Swinging his chucks by the laces, she tosses them towards his feet.

The wind has gotten strong on the hill, blowing her hair around her face and her skirt around her legs. He can't help but be reminded of the last time that he said goodbye. A windy day on another beach. Stinging tears well up in his eyes as he knots his shoes, but he holds his face still - it's dark enough she might not see.

"Doctor..." she starts.

"Rose," he interrupts her, his voice haggard. "Rose, please. I have to go." He tries to keep his tone light. "Tomorrow, okay? I'll see you tomorrow. Like we said."

"You won't."

"Rose, I told you..."

"You're not him, are you?" she says suddenly. She steps dangerously close, fire still dancing in eyes that see straight through him.

She doesn't seem threatened by this realization, just stating a fact.

After a beat of shock, reflexive babble streams from his lips in a torrent of noise and nonsense. Words burst forth that, looking back, he will never be able to remember or reproduce, but he hopes are distracting her enough to slip away.

Then he feels her warm hand parting his fingers. She squeezes firmly, quieting him, and repeats the question, so still and so close. "You're not him. Right?"

His body slumps, and he looks at her miserably. "No."

"You're a future him?" she confirms.

His eyes plead with her, but there is no refuge from her steadfastness. He can't prevent a small nod of assention.

Panic bubbles in him. "Rose, you can't tell him. You can never say..."

"Shh. I know. Reapers and stuff. Don't worry. I'll never breathe a word. Promise."

He nods again, relieved at her understanding.

"You should have just told me," she says flatly.

"You know I couldn't," he replies, finally feeling like himself. The walls have crumbled and now it's just him and Rose, no pretenses. In this zone of comfort and acceptance, he can't help but linger for a moment more.

"Yeah. I know," she affirms, smiling up at him, closer than ever.

He forces a grin at her, and squeezes her hand. "So, what gave me away?"

"I had my suspicions the first time around," she says. "But, this time I was sure."

Before he can make sense of that baffling retort, Rose is wrapped around him, fiercely claiming his lips with her own. He thrusts his arm between them, pushing her back and holding her at bay.

"We can't," he says breathlessly, "We... I can't do this. It makes things too hard. You have to stay. Preserve the timeline."

She furiously pushes off his arm. "Wake up, you git! I'm not that Rose."

"What?" he asks, brow furrowed and thoroughly confused.

"Doctor, look at me. Really look at me. I'm your Rose. Future Rose," she slows as she believes she sees understanding dawning on him. "You know... Defender-of-the Earth Rose?" she says hopefully.

The Doctor's posture straightens and she sees his legs flex under his trousers. His eyes narrow and the sonic screwdriver is suddenly out, its brilliant blue light casting harsh shadows on his face.

"Whoever you are," he levels, voice sharp with ice, "if you've hurt her, you're going to pay."

She can't roll her eyes large enough. "For the number of times you've bragged about the size of your brain, you can be incredibly daft sometimes. Right. Look here."

With efficient movements, she brushes her hair back to reveal a nasty scar along the top of her head. "Recognize this? I got it with you, fighting the Kurzons, right? But this one..." she parts her hair in the other direction, bowing her head down for his inspection. "New Year's Eve 2010. Firework startled an alien we were bringin' in, and he pushed me off the balcony. Fractured my skull, spent a month in hospital."

Seeing him unmoved, she frantically begins to dig in her pockets. "Papers. Here. Look," she places them in his bewildered hands. "Torchwood credentials. I'm a senior analyst now; got a huge staff working for me."

He plies his eyes away from her for a moment to glance at the papers. There's a photo ID of her. "Your hair is darker," he says in confusion.

"Yeah. Had to go blonde again tonight for the undercover job in case," she murmurs a bit embarassedly. "In case it wasn't you." She yanks the Torchwood papers away and replaces it with a photo.

"Remember the family? There's Mum and Pete. Just a few years older, but still together. And my brother, Steven. We tried to talk my mum out of the name, but there's no Aerosmith in the other universe, and she couldn't resist," Rose chuckles, glancing nervously at the Doctor.

She faces him full on, appearing strong and sure. "Doctor, it's me. I'm back."

He is at war with himself, not daring to breathe, his face sparked alternately with hope and grief. "You can't...it's impossible...You can't be here."

"You're impossible," she spits back at him desperately. "Doctor, can't you scan me or something? Oooh - check my DNA," she says, inspired.

"Useless," he responds rapidly. "Rose Tyler was already here. Plenty of creatures could have replicated her DNA by now." His words are harsh, but she thinks she hears a note of hope in his voice, like he might be opening himself up to the possibility.

Rose sighs, and kicks the ground a bit. "Where does that leave us then?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you suggest? Is there anything that will convince you?"

He considers for a moment. "There is a way," he says. "But you won't like it."

"Do it."

"You don't even know what it is. You'd just..."

"...let you? Yeah."

They stare at each other for a moment, finding familiarity in the words. He takes a step forward, presses his fingers against her temples, and the Doctor is finally inside Rose Tyler's mind.


	4. Chapter 4: Refraction

In an insane flash, his senses are flooded. A tornado of memory and emotion fiercely surge around him, converging into white noise and crackling with lightning. He sees everything and understands nothing. She's furiously thrusting years of memories at him in a desperate effort to get him to understand, and he vaguely wonders where Rose has learned to telepathically project like this.

Ah. Likely not Rose, he corrects himself. That must be why.

"Stop." he thinks to her, and the tempest instantly quiets. What's left is a more familiar sensation: the presence of two minds. Two tangible sets of thoughts and worries and whispers shift and shiver with light and energy. Just two, in fact, which immediately eliminates any sort of compression field or body snatch.

He senses no deception. Nothing to indicate that the woman he holds between his hands is not who she claims she is. But he is still on the surface. If she's a clone or brainwashed shape shifter of some sort, there will be an origin memory hidden somewhere. Probably buried deeply.

"I need to look deeper," he thinks.

"I know. Go on."

Taking a breath, he presses in. She yields to him, willing and unafraid.

He hunts. Ignoring the content of what he treads through, he looks for barriers. He looks for doors. He scavenges for anything that would point to a concealed truth. He digs deep into recessed memory, into places she probably can't call on consciously with much ease. He is fast and ruthless. It's so tight squeezing into these passages that he hears her gasp and then feels the twinge of pain cascading through her. He's hurting her.

Her quiet willingness to bear the pain begins to cut through his denial. He continues to look, but the search becomes rote as his doubt sparks. His edges tingle with the foreboding realization that she could be telling the truth.

His pace has slowed to a half-hearted crawl when he stumbles upon a cleverly concealed door. On his recognition of it, she internally recoils and his vindication swells as she begs him not to go in. She attempts to block it with mental barriers that he easily passes through. Satisfied he's found what he's looking for, he bursts through the door triumphantly and prepares himself to feast on the knowledge of her true identity.

The room is dark. Very dark. Sight lost, mostly there is only dizzy sensation. Squinting through the darkness he barely makes out the flashing of skin. There's a feral moan from below him. Male, and very much not his. Suddenly, there are fingers clawing at hips, hair is tossed, and torsos are grinding out an ancient rhythm. His olefactory awareness kicks in. It smells of Rose and sweat and heat and sex and _ohdeargod_ _he should not be here_.

Backing out quickly, he slams the door with such force that it shakes the whole corridor.

"What was...Why did...What were you thinking hiding that?" he stammers wildly.

He feels her thoughts thrum with amusement, embarrassment, and gentle concern.

"Was it really something you wanted to see?" she counters.

"What? I.. No! Well.. Not with... Not as such. No."

He feels her suppress a giggle. And another. Eventually she can't hold it in, and it cascades into a full blown laugh. For the first time in his life, he not only witnesses, but is a part of her laugh. The energy of her happiness, of her utter joy, bursts forth like the summer sun coming out from behind a cloud. It throbs through him and he basks in it. It's a deluge he isn't prepared for, and he risks probing the joy's center. His hearts nearly stop as he realizes what he's found there.

Love. Rose's love for him. It's identity is unmistakable, swirling brightly with the same color as her aura. He's sampled it once before when he took the Vortex from her, but if anything it's become brighter, more vivid.

"Rose." he names her solemnly, finally free of doubt.

She oozes tangible relief at his admission. But still, she senses his continued reticence. He has questions.

"Doctor. Will you let me guide you for a little while?" she asks gently, extending the mental equivalent of her hand. He hesitates for a moment and then takes it. Control is relinquished and he is plunged into the fog of Rose's memory…

* * *

Rose woke in her hammock and stretched, foggy with sleep, the soft scent of ocean sunrise wafting over her. As she patted down her wild bedhead, her fingers grazed the flower still tucked behind her left ear. Pulling it out, she looked at it. Now wilted, the edges were curling. She held it to her nose. Still deliciously fragrant.

She had danced with the Doctor last night. The look she had seen in his eyes, the tremble she had heard in his voice... It left her feeling confused, but excited. A new door had been opened between them. In their exchange she had glimpsed a future she hadn't dared to hope for.

Sorting herself out, she sprang from her room to the hut's common area. The Doctor was there, sitting 

atop a picnic table in the center of the room, reading something and simultaneously gobbling greedily on fruit and licking his fingers noisily.

"Rose!" he smiled. "Thought you might never wake up! Overindulge a bit last night, eh? Come have some of this food; it's delicious, delectable, and all sorts of other good d-words. Why didn't anyone tell me that Saiphan food was so brilliant?"

Beaming, she seated herself across from the Doctor and grabbed a slice of watermelon. "You forget, I pretty much introduced you to Saiphan food last night."

"Did you? And when was that?"

She shot him a confused look. "Y'know. Last night? Pu-pu platter and all?"

"No pupus for me, unfortunately. I was out getting that part for the TARDIS." Finally looking up from his book, he glanced at her curiously.

"How many daiquiris did you have last night, anyway?" His eyes swept over her, focusing like heat-seeking missles on her flower. "And what's that behind your ear?" He snatched at the flower tucked there and scowled at it. "It's gone all brown and mushy. Get rid of it."

Rose sat stunned as he tossed the flower over his back into the trash. Numbly, she watched him celebrate his 'two points scored', pumping his fist in the air, then as he settled back down to his book like nothing had happened.

So. That's how he was going to play it then. Complete denial.

She couldn't say she was surprised. It certainly wasn't the first time he ignored an awkward situation. They never talked about what happened on New Earth, after all. And the hasty retreat he had beaten last night now made it clear he regretted things getting so... intimate. But she never thought he could be quite this brash about it.

Rose felt her heart sink. Stiffening upright, she blurted out "I'll meet you back at the TARDIS in a bit, yeah?"

"Sure, take your time," waved the Doctor, not bothering to look up from his book, as Rose hurried out of the hut.

Her chest panging painfully, she retreated to the beach. Walking along the sandy shores, she took in the scene of the previous evening's events. Not even ashes from the bonfire remained: the tide had done its work during the night and washed away all of the remnants of the party.

As she strolled along the tree line, she cursed herself for so stupidly getting her hopes up. No matter what happened, she pledged, she couldn't do that anymore. The Doctor was never going to give her that kind of love, that kind of life. She thought she had embraced that as fact. Still, every time he hinted at a chance, she leapt for it. Was she lying to herself?

She regularly told her herself not to pin human expectations on someone so...not human. But, she was never the one initiating their brief crosses into ambiguous territory. Her devotion and loyalty were absolute, but it was always the Doctor that upped the ante.

Suddenly, Rose noticed something lying in the sand up ahead. Altering her course slightly, she started towards it, disbelieving the conclusion her eyes were drawing as she got closer and closer.

Arriving at the scene and looking down, there was no mistaking it. It was the Doctor's suit coat and shoes, plain as day. Thinking back, she was 100 certain he was wearing them at breakfast. She looked around hurriedly to see if somehow he had beaten her out to the beach, which seemed unlikely as she'd practically sprinted here. No sign of him anywhere. She picked up his Converse and squeezed them in her hands.

Her mind was overwhelmed with questions and possibilities. And in that moment, she decided to not let go of hope.

* * *

Rose's hand ran through her chestnut hair as she took in the little green men. She knew they were called the Clurichaun, but it was hard for her to think of them as anything but classic leprechauns. Small, simply clothed, and green, even the women had thick pointy beards.

She and Mickey had tracked their crashing ship into the English Channel, saved them from drowning, and established a friendly relationship. Unable to recover the craft, Torchwood had put out a signal to help them hitch a ride with a passing ship to a worthier spaceport.

While being housed at Torchwood One, the Clurichaun had broken no stereotypes with their behavior. They had friendly dispositions, but they also partied and caroused, danced noisy jigs, and drank far too much. Probably the reason their ship went down in the first place, Rose joked with Mickey.

Rose arrived in their temporary living quarters to tell them that a signal had been picked up, and their rescuers would be here in two days. The Clurichaun cheered, waving their small arms in the air, and broke out into a party even rowdier than the first.

As Rose started to leave, the one called Iobath stepped forward. "Rose Tyler. For your aid and assistance, we are prepared to grant one wish," he announced in a grand voice, octaves about a human female's.

Rose was startled, and the Doctor, peering through her eyes at this memory, felt it. "A wish?" she repeated, surprised, "What sort of wish?"

"That is for you to decide, Rose Tyler. Many wish for riches, some for immortality. Some want beauty, and a few desire love." Iobath stepped closer to her and his eyes took a serious cast for the first time since they met.

"And since I suspect that Rose Tyler has no need for any of those things, that she might instead consider the offer of a journey."

Rose smiled sweetly. This wasn't the first offer she'd gotten from an alien species. "I'm honored, Iobath, but I can't come with you. I'm needed here."

Chattering laughter erupted amongst the leprechauns behind Iobath, and Rose instantly wondered if she had offended them.

"Not with us," chortled Iobath, "You would starve on a diet of rainbows and whiskey. I mean the land of your origin. Even now, we can feel its pull on you."

The other Torchwood personnel in the room exchanged meaningful glances, but Rose was oblivious, stunned into a frozen silence.

"Consider our offer," said Iobath nodding solemnly.

There was only a brief beat before the party began anew.

* * *

"You're thinking about doing it, aren't you?" Mickey said bluntly.

"Yeah, I am."

"Rose. You need to be sure about this," Mickey said. "The Clurichauns can only send you across once. To one point in time and space. You've only got one shot. If I were you, I'd go back to London."

"Who knows how long it would be, Mick. Or how I would find him and contact him once he arrived. What if he avoids my time altogether now? No, this is my chance."

"But what's your contingency? At least in London, we could work you up some false Torchwood credentials. Get you into a position to be able to monitor for his return."

Rose shuddered. "There's no way I'm working for that Torchwood. And you know it."

"But Rose, you're not even sure that it's the right him!"

She shrugged. "Guess that's a risk I'm going to have to take. 'Sides, someone once told me Saipha's not a bad place to be stranded if it all goes wrong."

"If you're wrong, you could create a huge paradox."

"I won't. I have a plan."

Mickey's face radiated skeptical concern. Rose was filled with a surge of tenderness towards him; this friend who had been through so much with her. For her.

"Mickey, you've helped me get back to him before, under much worse circumstances. Please. You know if there's a chance to get back to him, I've got to try."

Mickey folded his arms and considered for a moment. Breathing out, he chuckled and shook his head. "I guess I should have expected this. You really love him, don't you? Though I'll never know what you see in the skinny bastard."

Rose flung her arms around Mickey. "I knew you'd understand."

Pausing for a beat, Mickey issued a gruff smile. "Your mother is going to lose it."

* * *

"Remember what we suspect about the web of time," reviewed Pete one final time. "It's not the motivations that matter, but the actions. What happens matters. Not the why."

Rose reflected on this, thinking back to the day where Pete in her world died, sacrificing himself to restore the world to normalcy. "I'll remember," she said nodding. "Thank you, Pete." There was an awkward pause between them before he initiated a hug. "Take care of her," Rose whispered, and felt his assenting nod.

Mickey was next in line, looking stoic. "I'm not saying goodbye Rose. We keep saying our final goodbyes, and we keep seeing each other again. Just...good luck, okay?"

"I'd say you too, but I know you won't need luck," teased Rose, hugging him tightly.

She now faced her mother. She felt her eyes begin to well.

"You're completely sure about this, sweetheart?" Jackie said, her eyes filling with tears that mirrored Rose's.

Rose put her hands on her mother's shoulders. "If you lost Dad again, what would you do to get back to him?"

Jackie and Pete exchanged a look. "I'd do anything," said Jackie, her tone much softer than usual.

"I love you, mum."

"Love you too, darling. Tell the Doctor that if he doesn't take care of you, I'll crawl my way across the void and kill him myself."

Nodding, her goodbyes were complete. She turned to Iobath and together they walked back towards the Clurichaun who had joined hands in a suddenly-somber circle.

Taking her place in the center, Rose leaned down to Iobath. "I'm ready," she announced. Iobath nodded in response, and at the nod of his head, all of the Clurichaun closed their eyes.

A deep hum filled the room. Its resonance grew in volume and thundered through her chest, threatening to split her head open. With one hand, she clutched the TARDIS key around her neck, and poured all of her energy into hope.

Before she could draw another shaky breath, she was pushed off balance by a foamy wave of warm water cresting over her feet. Her trainers sank into the undertow as the wave pulled back. Releasing the TARDIS key, she looked around and saw a young man some distance down the beach. She chased him, flagging him down. Nearing, she breathlessly asked him, "Where am I?"

"You are on Kahala Beach," he answered, in perfect English.

"Which planet?" she insisted.

"Why, Saipha, of course. Are you quite well, miss?"

Carried away with her excitement, she swept him into a hug. "I," she replied, "am fantastic! Completely fantastic!" He dawdled off, unsure how to react to the crazy lady on the beach.

Staring out into the surf for a few more moments, she reached to her belt and plucked off the translation device she'd been using the last three years. Winding up her arm, she threw it into the sea.

* * *

As the images slow to a dreamy trickle, the Doctor releases Rose from his hold. When she opens her eyes, he is smiling down at her, so broadly and proudly that his chest might burst.

"Rose Tyler," he says, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Hello," she says with a big grin, wagging her fingers lightly, and before she has a chance to say anything else, he's picked her up and is swinging her around him. Her entire body laughs with joy.

"Count on you to achieve the impossible," he says as they settle into a tight embrace.

"Never say never ever," she replies.

"No. Never again."

"You're pleased to see me then?"

"Pleased?" she feels the Doctor's breath on her cheek in a silent chuckle. "Pleased? I was pleased when I successfully tied my shoes this morning. I'm pleased when I manage to not burn my toast. I'm pleased my coat has edible fibers in it to eat in a pinch. But 'pleased' doesn't cut it as a word here, Rose."

He draws back, and his eyes are fierce and dark. "I haven't been this glad of anything in centuries."

She leans in, to touch his forehead with hers. There is electricity between them. Tension. She is giddy with it, but she knows that she can't give into it just yet.

"So... you want to get out of here?" he asks hopefully.

She separates herself and steps backwards out of his embrace, and he immediately checks himself. Her face looks troubled. Was he too intense? Too soon? Has she been offended by his initial lack of faith? Oh, he'll easily make up for that, given time. Please, let there be time...

"We can't leave, Doctor. Not yet, at least. I'm happy to see you, don't get me wrong. But our...reunion...has created a bit of a situation."

"Are you okay? Tired? Sick? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I'm fine. But, I am a bit worried for my counterpart."

Her counterpart? His mind races to process what she was saying. Oh God, her counterpart. Rose from the past. Still here. Having never met the future Doctor, she would never suspect anything about a future him visiting this place. She would never come back here, and they would never be reunited.

"Paradox," he blurts out. And just as he does, he can feel it start to tingle his time sense. Jiminy Cricket, it's a big one.

"Yeah. Sorry about that," said Rose sheepishly. "Good news, though. I've got a plan."


	5. Chatper 5: Rejection

_"No. Absolutely not. I am not doing that."_

_"Why not? You were more than happy to do it the first time."_

_"I don't do re-dos. It violates two, no three...it breaks nearly the entire canon of time traveling rules."_

_"Right. So you'll break the laws of time for a quick dance and a snog, but doing it to fix a paradox is out of the question?"_

_"Rose..."_

_"Look, if it helps, don't think of it as a re-do. There's no need to do the exact same thing as before. Just plant the seed so that I'll close the loop and come back here. Go get her and make her suspect that you're you. Any which way you please."_

_"I'm not entirely certain I know how I achieved that the first time."_

_"Doctor, you've been in my head. You know exactly how I figured it out."_

_"The thing about that is, at the time I was a bit distracted."_

_"Thinking I was some sort of maniacal clone come to destroy you."_

_"Yes."_

_"Doctor, believe me. You can do this. You are the king of hinting at things without saying them."_

_"Am I?"_

_...silence..._

_"Erm, right. So I am. Still, can't we just slip her a note or something?"_

_"I thought about that."_

_"And?"_

_"If I knew we were going to be separated, I'd fight it. It might change the timeline; make the paradox worse. What are you so afraid of anyway?"_

_"That I'll fail. That I'll... lose you again, Rose Tyler."_

_"You're the Doctor. She's Rose. You're not going to fail."_

* * *

One, two, three...fourth door on the left. This must be it, thinks the Doctor, arriving at a wide door marked 'Cleaning Staff Only'.

His hearts are flip-flopping awkwardly. Usually a master of keeping his own metabolism in check, the consideration of what's at stake is proving too much for him as adrenaline floods his system. _Calm down_, he tells himself._ You've faced far worse than this. _

Reminding himself of this fact does little to soothe his jangled nerves. Planting his feet and taking a deep breath, he sonics the door open, and steels himself for what's behind it.

It's dark in the small room, and as the door swings, the hallway light floods the interior. A pair of eyes are staring back at him, squinting at his silhouette framed by the bright light, unsure whether he's friend or foe.

She's gotten herself into an awkward position: half bent over, back against the wall, apparently trying to saw through her ropes on a metal hinge. Her hair is tangled, and sweat drips down her forehead onto the gag that has been stuffed in her mouth.

At once, his senses are filled with the knowledge that this is younger Rose. And she's such a gorgeous combination of furious and scared and determined, all of his nervousness immediately vacates him.

He can't help himself. "Rose," he says straight-faced, "I've been looking all over for a broom. Have you seen one anywhere?"

He watches as her face crumples with relief. He came for her. She stumbles out, legs a bit unsure. Reaching down, he gently pulls the gag from her mouth.

For one horrible moment, she's coughing violently. But she stops as quickly as she starts, and throws herself against him in an armless hug."God, 'm so glad you're here. I thought I was going to have to stay in there all night."

Grinning at her, he selects the rope-cutting setting on his sonic and sets to freeing her from her restraints.

"Doctor," she says as he works, "What's happened? I thought the Saiphans were pleased with us." Her voice is shaky, laced with confusion and concern.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about it. Probably just a little practical joke, that's all," he responds casually.

He can feel her tense a little. "A practical joke where three large Saiphan men gag me, tie me up and throw me in a closet for a few hours?"

"Well..." He draws out his 'l' to buy time. What is he supposed to say? That her future self paid a few burly men to stash her in order to preserve their future? Something tells him that won't go over well.

The sonic finally cuts free of the ropes and they drop harmlessly to the floor. Rose rubs at her wrists as she speaks."They didn't make any demands, or ask any questions. No one even came back to check on me. Something's not right here. There's something going on."

"Nahhh. It's just a little misunderstanding. I wouldn't worry. No harm done, right?"

In response, she holds up her wrists, which are rubbed raw from her restraints. "Well, other than that, I mean," the Doctor backpedals quickly. "Nothing a few seconds under the dermal regenerator won't cure."

Swiftly donning his glasses, he grabs one of her wrists and brings it near for closer inspection. Without thinking, he strokes his thumb gently across her rope burn.

She's eyeing him a bit. Hopefully enamored with his specs. "How'd you know I was here, anyway?" she asks suspiciously.

Not enamored then. He decides to be deeply engrossed by her hands, cursing himself at not having come prepared with an adequate cover story.

"Doctor. How did you know to look in this cupboard?" She's putting heavy emphasis on her consonants. She might just be annoyed with him.

"Told you, I was looking for a broom. Turns out I found something infinitely better." He peeks out over the rims of his glasses and gives her his most charming grin.

With one smooth motion, he releases her and pockets his glasses and screwdriver. "All better. Now, Rose Tyler, I would honored if you would accompany me to the Saiphan celebratory banquet. I hear they throw quite a party." He makes an offering of his hand, waggling his fingers just once to get the point across.

"A party?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? You find me tied up in a dark room and you don't seem to care about it. And now you want to go to a party?"

"Honestly Rose, when you've been tied up as often as I have, it really loses its negative associations. With some cultures, tying you up is just their way of saying hello."

"And Saipha is one of those places?

"Not as such, no. But like I said, you don't have a thing to worry about. It was all just a misunderstanding."

She seems to deliberate on this, and then sighs, resignedly. "Fine. Whatever you say. I'm going to bed."

In a panic, he swiftly blocks her path down the hallway with his body. "Wait. What? You don't want to come to the party with me? It's a party, Rose! You were so keen on it before. It'll be fun, I promise."

"No. I'm sore and exhausted. I need to sleep."

This was bad. About as bad as things could possibly get. All along, he'd planned on recreating the experience on the beach – dancing, a kiss, and beating a hasty retreat while leaving some personal affects behind. If Rose wouldn't come to the beach with him, he wasn't sure how he was going get her to realize who he was. He could feel the paradox growing dangerously close to breaking through the timeline.

"Maybe I'll come with you, then," he blurts out.

"What? To sleep?"

"Yeah." Looking up from the ground, hands in pockets, he meets her eyes and tries to pour every ounce of his longing for her into his expression. If she turns him down now, he won't get another chance at this.

"That all right?" he says softly.

_Please say yes. Please say yes, _he chants internally. She's staring right back, her eyes quiet and a bit curious, considering him.

"Yeah," she finally offers. "C'mon," she says. Together they begin the walk to their thatched hut.


	6. Chapter 6: Reflection

The walk to the hut is awkward at best. There's no sound between the two of them except the soft padding of his trainers, and the swishing of Rose's skirt. He is alternating between thinking furiously about how he will get through to her, and taking long, sideways glances at her to try to assess her frame of mind.

He curses the delicate balancing act he's taken on. He only has so long to hint at their future. Too much revealed, and the course of the future will be altered in unpredictable ways. Perhaps universe-ending ways. Too little said, and he'll be...alone.

Not over an hour ago, given this choice as an abstraction, he would have definitively chosen the lonely path. He'd lived it already and survived, after all. But just under an hour ago, he held her again. Kissed her. Oh Rassilon, he wanted to do it again.

They've arrived. He races in first and does a quick scan to make sure it's safe. It's perfunctory, of course. Saipha's one of the safest places in the universe. But after what she's just been through, perhaps some reassurance is necessary. "All clear," he says, and gives her a militant nod.

Without making eye contact, she marches straight for the door of her room, and turns in the doorway. "Good night, Doctor," she says curtly.

Panic strikes his brain, and pours forth from his mouth. "So soon? I was thinking we could relax a bit before bed. You know, sit, and have a talk? A little chitchat? Or something? Nothing like a good talk to unwind you after a long day, right?"

"No offense Doctor, but my throat is hoarse from screaming, and I'm completely exhausted."

"Your throat hurts? Ooh! You should let me make you some tea with honey. Nothing like tea with honey for a sore throat." Without waiting to hear her response, he rushes into the adjacent kitchen and begins to fling open cupboards. Rose watches him disappear from view and winces as she hears a huge crashing sound coming from the kitchen as pots and pans clatter to the ground.

"It's okay!" she hears him shout from a distance. "Tea's coming. Won't be a minute." Crashing sounds again, followed by the squealing of a tea pot. "There's no honey. Do you want sugar?"

Before Rose has a chance to respond, the Doctor reappears with two steaming cups.

"Doctor..." Rose warns, "The tea looks lovely, but I really think I just need to go to bed."

"Oh," he says. He sets down the tea and wracks his brain for ways to get her to stay. He decides to try to project crestfallen, a look he's finally perfected in this body. It's not hard to fake. He has very real inspiration. If she walks out of that door, she might be walking out of his life.

After a few moments, he sneaks his eyes up to see if it's working. It is. He suddenly feels a bit shameful for manipulating her.

"Are you okay, Doctor?" she says with sudden curiosity. "Did something happen to you on that planet?"

"Planet? No. Well. Not really. No, the planet was fine." Misdirection is key here. He's almost hooked her.

"It's just, you seem a little jumpy." She's walking towards him now.

He affects a distracted air. He thinks he remembers this doing the trick before. "Hmmmm?" he intones and looks disinterested.

She peers at him through squinted eyes for a moment. Should he have been human, his cheeks would have been burning at her examination. He's a big faker. He's always been a big faker. And it's always seemed like she can see right through him.

"C'mon", she finally says, and offers her hand. He accepts it wordlessly. She leads him to her room. "Let's get some rest."

He curses inwardly. Even the mysterious brooding act didn't draw her curiosity enough to distract her from bed. She must be really tired.

In mute exhaustion, Rose sheds her shoes and flops down lazily onto their sleeping apparatus. The Doctor meanwhile, clings to the corner, hands deep in pockets, slung forward on the balls of his feet a bit.

"What's wrong?" she whines through heavily lidded eyes, her voice already beginning to slur slightly. "We've shared a bed before."

"Rose," he gestures loopily, "it's a hammock."

"Industrial-strength hammock," she replies, bouncing slightly for emphasis. "C'mon. It'll hold us both."

He's feeling quite ruffled. Engaging Rose in some playful pillow talk in a nice king size bed hadn't sounded so terrible a few moments ago. Not that snuggling with her in the tight grip of this small hammock sounds bad per se. But she's lying there, golden hair splayed wide across the netting, brown eyes reflecting light in the darkness, and she is irresistible. And irresistible to the Doctor is usually a very bad thing. It is, quite often, a compromise to productivity. And he needs productivity right now. There is work to be done -preventing work.

But he cannot think of an alternative. There is little chance he will rouse her out of bed now; he is very familiar with how cranky Rose gets when pushed out of near-sleep. And he cannot leave and reject her. There isn't time. He must commit now.

In that moment, Rose shoves the enveloping rope edges over to make room for him. With a huge swallow, he quickly sheds his trainers and climbs in next to her.

Gravity forces them close. And the hammock rocks with the displaced momentum he's introduced. First to the side where she presses against him, creating a light firm pressure that sends tingles all throughout his body. Then to the side where he is falling, helplessly, against her. Hoping he doesn't crush her. Wanting so badly to crush her.

He lies stiffly for a moment, staring at the ceiling. But then she slides a knee lightly over his leg, and he can feel her breath on his neck. "G'night, Doctor," she mutters.

He can sense the moment she's out. It's nearly instantaneous. The active thought patterns he can usually feel buzzing against his skin stabilize into shimmering waves. "Sweet dreams, Rose," he whispers.

Between the rock of the hammock and the hypnotic lull of her dreams, he finds himself drifting off. His last conscious thought is that there might have been something he'd forgotten to do.

The next thing he knows, he's sharply awoken by a brittle sound on the window.

He gently works his way free from the hammock, careful not to rouse Rose, which as a phrase offers delightful alliteration, but is also easier said than done. She stirs, but he pushes the hammock gently to rock her back to sleep. She stills. Genius things, swings. Works with infants, works with Rose.

He looks out the window and dimly cut against the moonlight, he sees the other Rose readying another barrage of pebbles. She steadies herself when she sees him in the window and he gestures that he's coming out.

Her foot is tapping with a faint annoyance when he meets her out in front of their thatched hut.

"Where have you been? I was watching from the cliff, and you never came back to the beach," she whispers impaitently.

"You tied her up and locked her in a closet for three hours. She wasn't really in the mood for me to wine her and dine her. We came back here instead and sort of..."

She raises one eyebrow. "Sort of what?"

"Fell asleep."

Rose let out something resembling a half laugh and half cough. "Not exactly the moves I was hoping you'd put on her. What about the paradox? Are we in the clear?"

The Doctor doesn't need a moment to consult the timeline. "Not remotely, no. I need more time."

"We don't have more time," she hisses. "That's just it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. We've got a serious prob---"

Her sentence is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone whistling. A happy tune. Borderline frivolous.

Their eyes meet. "I know that whistle," whispers the Doctor. Both of them freeze to the spot as they see the Doctor -- the past Doctor -- come swinging around the corner. He's looking down, and doesn't seem to notice them in the shadows.

Rose grips the Doctor's hand tightly. It's about that time. "Run!" she chokes out.

They are flying across the beach until they are safe in more tightly enclosed jungle. Running across sand is not easy, and despite the Doctor's binary vascular system, he's breathing a bit heavily. Or perhaps that's just the thrill of running with Rose again.

"I tried to tell you! What are we going to do? He's going inside the hut! We've got to stall him somehow."

"Stall him. Right. Excellent idea." blurts the Doctor. His eyes are darting back and forth as his brain seeks out inspiration. None is forthcoming. Perhaps something in his pockets will light a needed spark. He shoves his hands in deeply and immediately comes out with...

"Psychic paper!" he shouts, a little too loudly. Rose looks startled, but he's got his sonic in the other hand, and sets himself to his task, teeth gritting in the stressed position he gets when he's pressed by time. Finished, he flips the sonic up and looks back towards the hut.

The other Doctor has paused. He reaches for his psychic paper, flips it open briefly, and then turns back towards town. Rose and the Doctor let out the breaths they've been holding for ages.

"What'd you do?" she asks.

"Sent him a message on the psychic paper. Said somebody in town needed help. He'll go investigate before he comes back." He turns back to her. "Two me's in one place, Rose. This is bad. Very bad."

"Is it? I thought it would be okay. Special Time Lord capabilities and such."

"Only when they are different me's. When it's the same body, I'm subject to the same paradox laws you are."

Rose looks panicked for a moment but quickly regroups. "Will he know you're here?"

He shakes his head no. "I knew I'd be crossing my own timeline. So I put a transtemporal stabilizer on the TARDIS just in case."

"English, please?"

"I've cloaked the TARDIS. He won't accidentally detect her."

"Right. What about your psychic Time Lord thingy?"

He looks sidelong at her with a great, dangerous smile. "I'll have you know all of my Time Lord 'thingys' are in perfect working order, thank you."

She blushes a smidge. So sweetly. Then it's quickly back to business. "Not that. Will he be able to feel you. Up here." She taps her head to indicate what she's talking about.

"I can shield myself to some extent. Shouldn't set off any warning bells unless we get into close proximity."

"So we're safe for the time being?" she says, head cocked. He knows that look. Rose has an idea brewing. He loves that look.

"Should be, yup. Besides the massive paradox we're sitting astride, of course."

"Well, there's that," she says smugly.

"So what's the plan then? Call your Saiphan friends and get them to pull a broom closet sequel on my doppleganger?"

"Mmmmm...." she says dreamily. "Have I ever told you how much I love to see you all tied up?" Her eyes get a bit hazy and he can smell her pheremones flare. Minx.

"But seriously, it's too risky," she continues. "The Saiphans don't have any high-technology restraints, and you're far too crafty. You'd conquer the closet easily and be on the loose in no time."

All of this stroking of the Doctor's ego is a little too much. She thinks he's crafty and wants to see him tied up?

She catches his dreamy look and hits him playfully. "Stay with me here. No one's getting tied up if we can't get out of this."

"Since when did you get so focused?" he retorts. "You used to be great at mixing flirting with adventure."

"It's gotten a little more challenging since you've started flirting back." The hand that hit him hasn't left his shoulder and slowly reaches up to touch his cheek.

"I always flirted back," he maintains as he reaches one of his arms around to cup the small of her back.

"Not like this you didn't."

With her cradled in his arms, he's suddenly overwhelmed. With fear. Fear that this isn't destined to work. "Rose...I have to tell you..." He pauses too long, and Rose takes the opportunity to spin her plot.

"There'll be time for that later Doctor. Let's do this: I'll go into town and meet up with old you. I'll pitch a fit and demand a shopping day in reciprocation for his ditching me to go get that TARDIS part. You get the old me and make her understand that she needs to come back here."

The old switch-er-oo. It's a good plan. Except... "Small problem: I'll know you're not you."

"You didn't last night," she says with some amusement.

Damn. She's right. "Fair enough," he concedes.

"Right. I'll try to stall him as long as I can. But we left at sunset that night and went back to London. So I'm guessing we can't go past sunset without the paradox exploding on us."

"Meet at the TARDIS at sunset?"

Rose nods solemnly and turns from the Doctor to go find his counterpart. _Twelve hours_, she tells herself, _until I either get eaten by a Reaper, or start a life with the Doctor. Not quite what I had in mind._

Her thoughts are interrupted by an urgent sound. "Rose," she hears from behind her. She turns back and he jogs up to her.

Before she can ask him what's wrong or scan his face to guess at it, he's pulled her close. His eyes are burning hot with a steely resolve. Such is the strength of their fire that it shocks her cold when he closes them, dips down, and kisses her.

She had certainly attempted to snog him senseless earlier that evening, but he swiftly put an end to that. So she thinks it might be safe to say that this is their first kiss. His lips are shy and slow as they press against her own. Even a little tentative. But also immediately intoxicating.

It is over quickly, too quickly, and he releases her mouth and furiously pulls her against him in a possessive embrace she is all too familiar with.

"Good luck," he whispers.

And with a sudden twist, he is gone, jogging lankily back toward the hut.

"You too," she calls after his swiftly diminishing form, before commanding her wobbly legs to start towards town.


End file.
